


The Enigma

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Ambition, Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, Loss, References to Manipulation, References to Mind Control, Responsibility, blame, references to injury, references to violence, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 15:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Gary confronts Alex about Alan's broken collarbone. Set during In the Hand of the Goddess.





	The Enigma

The Enigma

“You broke Alan’s collarbone.” Gary’s tone was sharp and accusing as an executioner’s sword when they passed in passageway for the first time after Alex's duel with Alan. In all the years Alex had known Gary, he’d only heard that scornful edge directed against others, never against him. It disconcerted him–made him suspect that they weren’t friends any more so much as they were strangers taking one another’s measure or possibly even opponents warily circling each other in a deadly duel, preparing to strike or dodge the fatal blow. 

Part of Alex burned to protest that he hadn’t broken Alan’s collarbone deliberately, but even in his head he couldn’t find the words to describe the out-of-body sensation that had fogged his mind and clouded his judgement when he fenced with Alan in what should have been a fiercely competitive but friendly duel. He couldn’t explain how his limbs had simultaneously been inside and outside of his control as if he were both the puppet and the puppeteer, how desires he didn’t understand had swelled to a crescendo within him and then faded to silent shame once he realized the extent of Alan’s injury, and how he couldn’t remember clearly what he had done or why, just as he often couldn’t recall much of what he did or said in Duke Roger’s presence. His memories of his conversations with his former knightmaster were nothing more than gleaming smiles and glittering jewels flashing across his eyes, yet he was somehow addicted to them and sought them out as a moth would a flame or a drunkard his tankard of ale. 

Even if words hadn’t failed Alex, he doubted that Gary, for all his cleverness, would understand or even wish to try. Alex’s explanation would have sounded feeble to his own ears, a lame excuse unbefitting a knight to wiggle out of responsibility for his brutality, so he retorted, not knowing if it was a distraction or a counterattack and wondering when his conversations with his friends had started to resemble duels of thrusts and parries, “Hypocrite. You’re a fine one to be lecturing me about my duel with Alan when you were banished to the border for fighting Raoul over Lady Delia’s perfumed glove. At least Alan and I had the sense to fight for our pride, not some pretty girl’s glove.” 

“That’s a false equivalency.” Gary’s arms folded across his chest, and Alex was uncomfortably reminded of his father at his sternness lecturing Alex on some etiquette violation that would land him extra hours of lessons with Master Oakbridge for a week. “Neither Raoul nor I broke each other’s collarbone. We also have the same rank and are about the same size, neither of which is true of your duel with Alan. Alan’s still a squire to your knight, and he’s the smallest squire.”

“He may be the smallest squire, but he’s a better swordsman than you,” snapped Alex, stung. 

“Yes, he’s an excellent swordsman, and that’s why your jealous of him.” Gary’s eyes were narrow and hard. “I never thought you’d stoop so low as to injure Alan because you’re jealous of him.” 

“I’m not jealous of him. To be jealous of him would imply that he’s a better swordsman than me, and if nothing else my breaking Alan’s collarbone should have proved that I’m the superior swordsman,” Alex scoffed. 

“You’re a brute.” Gary shook his head. There was no anger–just sorrow and loss as though a friend had died–in his eyes and somehow the absence of his rage was worse than the presence of it. The presence of it affirmed that they were still friends despite everything. The absence of it suggested that their friendship had ended. “I feel like I don’t know you any more or maybe that I never really knew you at all and am only seeing your true face now.” 

“Did you expect me to forever stay the ten-year-old boy you first made friends with? Did you assume I would never change?” Alex clenched his fists so tightly that his olive knuckles went white as ivory.

“I thought you’d change but for the better, not the worst.” Gary turned on his heel, striding away down the cold corridor that had raised gooseflesh on Alex’s arms. His back to Alex, he tossed over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Alex, though I’ve no doubt you will, since yourself is the only person you seem to care about any more.” 

There was so much contempt in the farewell that it sounded more like a curse than a benediction. Fiery resentment froze to ice inside Alex’s chest as he had the overwhelming, blinding realization that Gary–his oldest and once best friend in the palace–had chosen Alan over him as everybody except Duke Roger always did. Alex would remain faithful to Duke Roger–the only one who had ever picked him over Alan–forever and would one day rob Alan of everything Alan held dear just as Alan had stolen all Alex had ever valued from him. When Alan felt on the cusp of victory–of fulfilling his dreams, Alex would swoop in to claim his triumph. That would be his ambition and his justice.


End file.
